Nurturing the Garden Space

I was going to blog today about love’s energetic opposite (fear), but my aching body is requesting I write about it instead.

Yesterday I reached that point where I was restless and it surely wasn’t out of lack of things to do. Several deadlines were staring me down.

But it was gorgeous outside. I grabbed the camera and went for a walk. This resulted in me deciding it was far too beautiful a day to get lost in project files and pitch writing.

I’d had a outside project that got put on hold once the snow started falling: the ‘garden area’.

Being that our building sits on a rather steep incline, we have two main entrances: the Belmont side (1st floor) and the Boylston side (3rd floor). The Boylston exit sports a canopy that houses the garbage and recycling. For the first few years that we were here, it was known as one of the ‘it’ spots on the hill for the homeless to get their fix: private and dry.

More times than not, I’d encounter people shooting up, cooking up. One time someone was even passed out, blood trickling down from the limp needle stuck in his arm.

Nice.

I’m not a fan of fences. (Abolish boundaries, remember?) However, when it bleeds over and starts to threaten my safety and the safety of those around me, I draw the line.

On the outskirts of the garbage/recycling area is a little piece of land that the tenants refer to as the ‘garden area’. Years ago it was a garden. Over time, it morphed into the ‘fix spot’ and then homeless addicts started living back there: cardboard boxes, human waste, used needles.

They even started getting up onto the roof of the building to get high.

I couldn’t necessarily blame them. The view’s incredible from up top. But if they could get on the roof, they then could get onto the balconies. Definitely not cool.

Always up for new visual material, I started photographing all the used needles that were piling up out back and emailing them to the owners of the building (who are really friendly, witty, cooperative, hands on people, I gotta say).

Overtime, an elaborate fencing system was born. After it went up, the building got tagged. No big surprise there. But the whole energy of that back space shifted. It’s now safe, clean. Tenants don’t have to wonder what’s lurking around the corner anymore.

Coordinating the back area with the owners segued into Adam and I taking over as building managers. The last manager, a good friend, is repeatedly swamped with work and was ready to pass the torch.

I get off on keeping things clean and safe and was happy to assume the role of Bel Baines Motherly Hen.

For a while the garden area became the catch all for yard waste. Branches, twigs and leaves overtook the space. One of the owners did a dump run a couple weeks ago and yesterday I grabbed some sturdy metal rakes and 4 large trash bags and proceeded to rake the living hell out of a good 4 to 6 inches of, what I guess I can label, ‘top soil’.

At first I was counting the plastic needle toppers, the little white baggies.

“Let’s see how many I can get.”

As the numbers began to multiply, I decided to stop counting. It wasn’t long before it went from amusing to sad.

We’re in talks to put in either a bike shed, adding to the ‘pro-transportation-ness’ of the building. (Flexcar on premises – coming soon!).

The other possibility is a barbeque pit. Plants, benches, a grill. A communal place to gather on summer and fall nights. I love it.

Yesterday it felt so good to be working that soil, removing all the waste, all the old negative drug-induced dead space, knowing it was going to receive a rebirth.

It felt good to be clearing out a space of addiction.

In the fall of 2005, a good friend of ours flew out for a visit. He sandwiched his stay around a shoot that we had. Actually we did that with a few friends. They’d fly in and we’d hang out for a day or two, orient them with the city and then fly out, leaving them with a fully furnished place to stay.

Anyway, we got back from the shoot exhausted and malnourished as per the norm, and he had picked up a little bag of ‘pick me up’.

Two hours in, I was immediately asking him to call ‘the guy’.

“This is too good. We HAVE TO get more.”

Ah yes, my addictions, always ready and willing to run the full distance.

We didn’t hook up with more, thank God. The amount we had left the three of us debating a trip to the ER for a good solid couple of hours the next morning.

Walking as much as we do, we often find drugs on the street.

Spying that occasional little bag of white powder, we’re left to wonder, “Why hello. Are you a good methamphetamine or a bad methamphetamine?”

(The answer is always, “Doesn’t matter. Don’t fucking pick it up.”)

After a year and a half I sometimes still wonder if the friend of ours still has the number to ‘the guy’. But I know that I will never allow myself ask. Period.

I know that I love to experiment, to explore in whatever way, and I know that I have to set certain limitations for myself.

This is why I prefer to stick with the more natural, organic elements.

Speaking of which, it pays to have good friends around, too.

The other night one of em’ casually mentioned, “I’ve kinda been going easy lately. I was getting clouded and needed a break. Some clarity. It’s good to do that every once in awhile, let the tolerance drop back.”

I smirked.

(Thanks for the gentle nudging.)

So, it was a good afternoon in the ‘garden space’. But man, can I feel it today.